A fresh southerly wind painted silvery-white streaks across the deep blue water. Captain Edward John Smith stood on the port wing of the bridge, impatiently observing the progress of RMS Olympic along the Solent. Technically he was not yet in command of the White Star liner, as this duty was presently in the hands of a Southampton river pilot. It was Captain William George Bowyer’s voice giving orders to the helmsman as the West Bramble buoy slipped past to his left.
‘All engines, full ahead.’
While it was Smith’s fifth outing with Olympic, merchant navy regulations demanded he hand over command to a qualified pilot during the tricky first stages of leaving the Port of Southampton. Bowyer had thirty years’ experience of these waters, and the White Star Line was a regular employer of his services.
Within two minutes they had accelerated from eleven to sixteen knots, and were on course for the more straightforward part of their journey towards the English Channel. Smith grimaced as he jiggled a gold sovereign in his trouser pocket, a familiar gesture for the occasions that demanded he remain a mere spectator. He felt reduced to the same level as the 1,500 passengers on board, a large number of them presently assembling for lunch in the first-class dining rooms. Impatient to resume command, he exited the wheelhouse to the starboard wing and watched the approach of a smaller Royal Navy vessel that appeared to be matching them for speed.
HMS Hawke, about a third the size of the Olympic, was not a handsome ship, and the backward-raked prow distinguished her old-fashioned appearance as she ploughed a parallel course just 200 yards distant. Smith looked on with a mixture of admiration and distaste as the Hawke appeared momentarily the faster, but then the aged warship’s prow slipped back to a point approximately halfway along the liner’s hull. At this proximity he could distinguish the submerged barrel shape of Hawke’s ram projecting forward like the nose of a giant porpoise.
Captain Bowyer joined Smith on the wing of the bridge and followed his gaze towards Hawke. At that moment both men were alarmed to see the warship begin to swing her prow to port, with the armoured ram now pointing directly at them. No words were exchanged even though each recognised the threat for what it was.
The cruiser was losing ground to the accelerating Olympic, and it seemed possible the intention was to pass behind the liner’s stern, but both men knew such a manoeuvre was too dangerous to execute safely so close and at speed. Bowyer ran back into the bridge, ready to give fresh orders to his helmsman.
Smith raised his voice. ‘I don’t believe he will get under our stern, Bowyer.’
The pilot called back over his shoulder. ‘If she is going to strike, sir, let me know in time so I can put the helm over to port. Is she going to strike?’
‘Yes, she is going to strike us in the stern!’
Pandemonium reigned on HMS Hawke: her commander flew down the ladder between the bridge and wheelhouse, desperate to avoid disaster.
‘What are you doing, man? Port, port, hard-a-port! Stop port engine! Full astern starboard!’
‘Helm jammed!’ yelled the quartermaster at the wheel. An officer and a helmsman rushed to his aid as the warship continued its swing towards the liner’s hull. The commander looked up at the vertical mass towering above them and prayed they would find empty water out of nowhere. But the increased strain on the gearing had caused it to lock completely. He barely had time to use the engine room telegraph and order ‘Full astern both’ before the impact.
Inch-thick steel plating on Olympic’s hull was no match for armour-coated concrete; the antiquated ramming device of an elderly naval vessel was about to prove its worth. Nearly 8,000 tonnes of steel drove into the side of Olympic. It was not a deep wound, around eight feet, but the noise was deafening to those inside the warship’s wheelhouse. Fragments of metal, rivets torn from steel plate, and flecks of paint rained down on the Hawke’s deck as the two vessels wrestled briefly together. Olympic was holed both above and below the waterline, while the Royal Navy ship finally wrenched herself free looking like a boxer whose nose had been flattened by a stronger opponent.
Victory for either side was yet to be declared.